


the human soul is a treacherous place

by scrumdiddilyumptious



Category: Agent Carter (Marvel Short Film), Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, 1940s setting, AU, Agent Carter - Freeform, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Captain America: First Vengeance (Comics), Captain America: The First Avenger, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Childhood Friends, Drama, F/M, Friendship, History, Hurt/Comfort, Marvel - Freeform, Marvel Universe, Nazi Germany, Romance, WWII, Will depict Nazi propaganda, Will depict Nazi symbols, World War II, alternative universe, historical fiction - Freeform, the Howling Commandos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:42:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28024917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrumdiddilyumptious/pseuds/scrumdiddilyumptious
Summary: A romance forged in friendship. A marriage cemented with lies. And a spy with everything to lose.Steve Rogers met Peggy Carter one carefree summer when their lives were untouched by duty, politics and the looming threat of an oncoming war.A tale of love, classism, war and redemption.
Relationships: Peggy Carter & Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter/Johann Schmidt, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29





	1. Prologue

> _Loving you was like going to war;_
> 
> _I never came back the same._
> 
> \- Warsan Shire 

**Prologue**

It was a crisp Parisian evening. The soldier strode through the dark _Jardin des Tuileries,_ kicking up the fallen leaves in a flurry of red, brown and gold. Hungry, resentful eyes followed him from the shadows — taking in the _großer Gesellschaftsanzug_ of the invading army — but furtively slunk away from his returning cold, arrogant glare. He did not need interruptions this evening.

Exiting the park, he crossed towards the dazzling neo-classical entrance of _Hôtel le Meurice_. Heavy flags fell over the many archways, clashing vibrantly with the natural stone: a field of red with a white disk and black _hakenkreuz_. Lavishly dressed women clung to the arms of powerful men in either expensive suits or dress uniforms. They lingered outside the hotel, hoping for the assembled photographers to take an interest and snap their image — after all, this evening’s event could be tomorrow’s front cover news in the Fatherland. The soldier, however, avoided the flashing bulbs of the cameras and approached the barrel-chested doorman. From a trouser pocket, he wordlessly produced an invitation printed on thick, ivory card.

The doorman inspected the invitation before returning it, along with a leather _Arlecchino_ mask attached to black ribbon.

“Your mask, _monsieur_.”

The soldier fixed him with a disdainful glare.

“House rules.”

Snatching the offending mask into his hands, the soldier settled the grimacing face over his own and deftly tied the strings of ribbon behind his head. 

“ _Parfait_ ,” the doorman simpered.

The soldier grunted in disapproval before striding into the lobby of the hotel. The brassy tones of the _Reichsmusikkammer_ band spilled out of the double doors on either side of the concierge’s desk, beckoning guests towards the opulent _Salon Pompadour_. Golden, shimmering light fell from the five crystal chandeliers hanging from the domed, gilt ceiling. The _Portrait of the Marquise de Pompadour_ , captured in pastel and gouache, adorned the far wall above the unlit fireplace. Intimate parties of two-to-four sat at round, lamplit tables while couples twirled on the glossy dance floor. A fleet of waiters wearing black three-piece suits and bow ties smoothly navigated their way through the crowd, balancing trays of oval champagne glasses and neat rows of canapés.

It was difficult to believe that outside these walls food was scarce and children were starving. 

Every face was concealed behind a mask. The male guests wore a wild array of full and half-masks: the square-jawed _Bauta_ , the long-nosed _Pantalone_ , and the full-faced _Volto_. The women hid behind _Colombina_ masks, intricately decorated with feathers, luxurious materials, or gemstones _._ Even the waiter's attire included simple, satin eye masks. Distorted and leering faces were reflected in the mirrored walls of the _Salon Pompadour_ as though they were all figures captured in a renaissance painting. 

Walking slowly among the crowd, the soldier caught snatches of conversations — the main topic of discussion centred around the recent invasion of Vichy France and the subsequent disbandment of their military force. Pride for the Fatherland shone through these vibrant, gleeful conversations. The loudest table discussing this was in the corner. The lanky _Oberst-gruppenführer_ Gustav Roeder was folded into his chair, a half-mask concealing hollow eyes and cheekbones, whilst the more rotund _Obergruppenführer_ Otto Schneider lounged in his chair, one pudgy hand gesticulating wildly as he spoke. Their table was already littered with empty champagne glasses.

The music of the _Reichsmusikkammer_ band came to a halt, drawing the attention of every guest as the conductor tapped a microphone. “ _Mein Damen und Herren_ ,” he began in carrying tones, “Please be upstanding for this evening’s benefactors: Baron and Baroness von Schmidt.”

The assembled guests began to politely clap at the couple framed in the doorway; the Baron wore his impressive _Waffenrock_ , adorned with a belt of silver braid, silver aiguillette, a red armband and array of medals. Beneath his _Schirmmütze_ , a full mask designed to look like a blood-red skull covered his face. The Baroness wore an off-the-shoulder, a-line gown of black velvet with a black lace eye-mask and hair piled atop her head. A slash of red lipstick complimented the diamond, ruby and pearl necklace that hung above her breasts. It caught the light and dazzled the eyes.

For the first time, the soldier felt a crack form in his ironclad composure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Please excuse my self-indulgent spiel :D
> 
> I am a sucker for historical fiction (particularly the Tudors and the Second World War), especially when it is mixed with romance and, to some extent, political intrigue. I'm also hugely fascinated (and in some respects horrified) by the events that led to the Second World War, the war itself and all of the other goings-on that occurred during the war (e.g. the S.O.E., French Resistance, life on the home front, international espionage and the Holocaust). I also, apparently, am a sucker for old-worldy high society and lavish balls.
> 
> This story has been inspired by a mixture of real-life stories and events, as well as the following forms of media: Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks, Atonement by Ian McEwan, Charlotte Gray by Sebastian Faulks, Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh, 'Schindler's List' (Spielberg, 1993), 'Inglourious Basterds' (Tarantino, 2009), [in part, due to only seeing short segments] 'Band of Brothers' (Hanks and Spielberg, 2001). 
> 
> This will be a historical fiction AU - there will be no super soldier serum; advanced weaponry; HYDRA division, etc. The characters that we all know well will continue to make their appearances however it may not be in the form that we are used to seeing them in. When necessary, I will identify which characters are playing which parts - especially for those minor characters in the films/TV series - unless this would spoil a later reveal. I am trying to, unless absolutely necessary, avoid using OCs. 
> 
> I've put a LOOOOOTT of research into this however I am taking a teensy bit of creative license in some aspects. After each chapter I will, if necessary, explain any historical background information and/or translations. 
> 
> BACKGROUND INFORMATION:  
> \- The title comes from the song 'There's a Ghost' by Fleurie  
> \- The Warsan Shire quote comes from her poem "34 Excuses for Why We Failed At Love"  
> \- Hotel Le Meurice was occupied between September 1940 and August 1944 by the Wehrmacht (German Army). The Salon Pompadour is a real room within the hotel where Pablo Picasso once celebrated his wedding to Olga Khokhlova.  
> \- I am taking some creative liberties by having a German Baron and Baroness as the peerage system was abolished in Germany in 1919 - hereditary titles are only permitted through the use of 'von', 'zu' etc. I'm excusing myself on this with the MCU's use of Baron von Strucker (CA:TWS, AOU, AOS).
> 
> TRANSLATIONS:  
> \- Jardin des Tuileries: (Fr.) Tuileries Gardens, Paris  
> \- großer Gesellschaftsanzug: (Ge.) dress uniform  
> \- hakenkreuz: (Ge.) another name for a swastika, particularly when referring to the Nazi-symbol  
> \- Arlecchino; Bauta; Pantalone; Colombina: a variety of masks, most of which have been taken from Commedia Dell'arte, an Italian form of theatre  
> \- "Parfait": (Fr.) perfect  
> \- Reichsmusikkammer: (Ge.) Reich Music Chamber; "good German music" composed by Aryans and seen as consistent with Nazi ideals as opposed to music described as "degenerate" music, such as atonal music, Jazz or music written by Jewish composers  
> \- The Portrait of the Marquis de Pompadour - a painting of Jeanne Antoinette Poisson, the chief mistress of Louis XV, that hangs in the Salon Pompadour  
> \- Oberst-Gruppenfuhrer: (Ge.) a high commissioned rank of the SS, roughly equating to a Colonel General  
> \- Obergruppenfuhrer: (Ge.) paramilitary rank of the SS, roughly equating to a General.  
> \- "Mein Dammen und Heren": (Ge.) "Ladies and Gentlemen"  
> \- Waffenrock: (Ge.) military coat  
> \- Schirmmutze: (Ge.) peaked cap
> 
> CHARACTER INFORMATION:  
> \- Roeder from Captain America: The First Avenger ("Your HYDRA division has failed to produce so much as a rifle in over a year...") playing the role of Oberst-Gruppenfuhrer Gustav Roeder.  
> \- Schneider from Captain America: The First Avenger ("The Red Skull has been indulged long enough!") playing the role of Obergruppenfuhrer Otto Schneider


	2. Part I: One

**PART I**

**  
Chapter One**

_Coney Island, 1930_

A heady perfume of cotton candy, frankfurters and tangy sea air spread over the smiling, sunburnt crowds of Luna Park as they wandered between attractions, feats of splendour and souvenir stalls. The jaunty tune of a fairground organ swelled, mingling with the delighted screams of children and adults alike as they spun on _The Teaser_ or slid down the helter skelter.

Guided by the eclectic architectural mesh of Neoclassic, Late Baroque and Morrocan structures, visitors were led towards the sunken man-made lagoon that dominated the centre of the amusement park. Accessed by descending sweeping stone staircases, the lagoon boasted golden sand, an elegant bandstand with live music, and a sparkling pool of shallow water. Families, groups of friends and courting couples lounged on the sand or frolicked through the ankle-deep water. For a few hours, the frivolity of Luna Park chased away the harsher reality of learning how to survive after Black Thursday. From every tower and spire, the Star-Spangled Banner waved lazily in the sea breeze with the promise of better days to come.

 _The Cyclone_ , an ever-popular wooden roller coaster, performed its final dip in the circuit and ground to a clattering halt. Grinning and windswept thrillseekers clambered out of their carriage and headed towards the exit in a snaking line. Bringing up the rear, a boy with bright eyes, dark hair and a crooked smile punched the air exultantly.

“See? I toldja there was nothing to worry about!” he exclaimed.

His companion, a remarkably slighter boy with a mop of blond hair and a faintly green complexion, stumbled after him. His knuckles were still bleached white from how hard he had been gripping the safety bar. Instead of answering, the second boy gave an unintelligible murmur. 

“Er, Steve?”

The blond boy, Steve, leaned forwards and retched loudly. A stream of vomit splattered the floor. He was vaguely aware of jeering laughter and people skipping away from him in revulsion. Steve held onto his stomach as it convulsed painfully. 

“Bucky…” he managed to groan out before vomiting spectacularly again.

Bucky patted his best friend awkwardly on the back; he was painfully aware that they were attracting a lot of unwanted attention. Clapping his hand to the scruff of Steve’s neck, Bucky guided him around the puddles of vomit and towards the exit before anyone could scold them for making a mess — or, worse, insist that they clean it up. 

Once out in the open, Bucky guided Steve towards a narrow alley where the dumpsters were stored and shoved him between the two buildings. Turning towards the crowd, Bucky whistled shrilly to cover up the sounds of vomit splashing on the wall as his friend was sick for a third time.

“Damn, Rogers, what’ve you been eating?” Bucky called over his shoulder.

“Nothing,” Steve mumbled. He pushed past Bucky, gloomily wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He was no longer green but pale and shaky; sweat beaded his forehead. “It was the roller coaster.”

“Aw, c’mon; it weren’t so bad!” Bucky said brightly, throwing his arm around Steve’s shoulders. 

Steve shrugged him off and sat down on the kerb. He hugged knobbly knees to his thin chest. “Maybe not for you,” he said, “but I’ve always been yella.”

Bucky dropped down beside Steve and nudged him with his shoulder. “Hey, don’t call yourself that,” he berated. “You ain’t no namby-pamby baby, alright? We all get sick sometimes.”

He waited but Steve’s expression didn’t change. Sighing, Bucky looked around the busy amusement park and spotted a nearby concessions stand selling hot dogs, drinks and snacks. “How about a ginger beer? My Ma swears by it for a sick belly,” he said, injecting as much brightness into his tone as possible. Finally, he added, persuasively, “My _tree-eeat_.”

Steve felt a reluctant smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “ _Your_ treat, huh? You must feel real sorry for me.”

Bucky cuffed him around the ear and stood up, dusting dirt off of the seat of his pants. He joined the queue at the concessions stand. Steve watched him go and sighed morosely; sometimes, he didn’t feel as though he deserved a friend like Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes was his best friend, and the closest thing to a sibling that he had. He was the only kid who had ever given Steve a chance and yet, _occasionally_ , a fierce jealousy rose in Steve and threatened to eat him up.

Bucky was All-American charm with his mischievous grin, cheeky manners and unaffected confidence. He could sweet talk just about anyone; _girls_ in particular. The girls in school always giggled maddeningly whenever Bucky passed them and even crabby old Mrs Blonsky, who lived in the same apartment block as them, would give him a rare, moustachioed smile. Steve, on the other hand, always got tongue-tied and could only stammer helplessly as unconcealed disdain for him spread across their faces.

It wasn’t _just_ the girl’s either. Bucky inspired confidence and respect in the neighbourhood kids. With his lithe, athletic build, he was always picked first for kickball during recess or stickball out on the street. If Steve was ever picked first for a team then it was only because Bucky was team captain, and his name was usually met with resounding groans of dissatisfaction. Steve was neither lithe, nor athletic; instead, he was small, spindly and disappointingly clumsy. His stature may have fooled some people into thinking he was quick-footed or possessed excellent stamina but running for any period of time reduced Steve to a wheezing, asthmatic heap.

Sometimes, he just wished he could trade places with Bucky — if only for a day.

The queue moved slowly along. Bucky turned and grinned his crooked grin, giving Steve a double-thumbs up, and suddenly Steve felt like the biggest jerk in the world. Bucky was more than simply a hit with the girls or a buffer between Steve and the other boys; he always stepped in when Steve (deservedly, but even so) picked a losing fight, he never looked at Steve with either pity or revulsion, and he was always around when Steve needed him. 

Steve let his eyes wander over the bustling crowd to distract him from his ungrateful thoughts. His fingers itched to take up a pencil and sketch the men in their suits and ladies in their dresses, the towering buildings with their turrets and archways, and the children eating Coney dogs with mustard-smeared grins. His gaze fell on a kid at the Cowboys and Indians-themed shooting gallery; the boy was tiny, even smaller than Steve, and this was emphasised by his too-big clothes. Despite the heat, he wore a knitted sweater with the sleeves rolled up to his wrists, shorts that were pulled in tight at the waist by a thick belt, and a newsboy cap pulled low over his face. The air rifle pressed into his shoulder looked absurdly big in his small hands. In spite of this, the tell-tale _ping!_ cut through the noise of the crowd as the pellet fired from the gun found its mark, knocking over the metal figure of a Brave. 

Steve sat up a little straighter, watching with interest.

_Ping! Ping! Ping!_

More pellets hit the figures, missing the mounted cowboys and instead hitting the Indians as they rose and fell behind tumbleweeds, cacti and boulders. The final pellet hit the Chief squarely between the eyes. A whirring siren and flashing lights announced that the kid had won and was free to claim his prize.

Steve lost sight of the kid as a particularly boisterous crowd moved between them and almost instantly forgot about him. Bucky returned, holding a bottle of frothy ginger beer, and dropped down beside Steve on the sidewalk again. They passed the drink back and forth, each taking a slug until the soda was mostly gone. The ginger settled Steve’s stomach and brought colour back into his pale face. 

Across from them, a girl in a plain dress sat with her mother. Bucky pointed her out to Steve as she looked their way; instead of getting embarrassed that he’d been caught staring, Bucky flashed her a winning smile and flirtatious wink. A pretty stain of pink stretched across her cheeks and button nose as she tossed her head coquettishly. 

“Eugh, I think I’m gonna be sick again,” Steve groaned, only half-joking. Bucky ignored him, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at the girl. 

While this display continued, Steve was distracted by a commotion behind them: the kid from the shooting gallery was surrounded by four older boys. They’d trapped him against the wall of the building behind and blocked his path every time he tried to move past.

“You cheated!” the whiny voice of the leader of the gang cut through the cheerful hum of the crowd.

A second boy made a grab for the toy cowboy that the kid had won. The kid snatched it back, clutching it tighter against his chest. Steve felt his hands curl into fists — if there was one thing he hated, it was bullies. Jumping to his feet, his earlier sickness forgotten in his newly awakened indignation, he marched towards the gang of boys before Bucky had even noticed anything was amiss. 

His little voice rang out clearly. “Hey! Leave him alone!”

The gang of boys turned towards Steve, looked him up and down and laughed derisively. “Beat it, kid! This ain’t got nothing to do with you.”

Bucky sighed resignedly and pulled himself away from his flirting. He stood up as Steve, mustering all of his strength, socked the boy closest to him in the gut. Surprise, rather than pain, flitted across the boy’s face until it gave way to fury. Suddenly, all seven boys — the gang of four plus Steve, Bucky and the kid — were scuffling. Fists were flung in all directions, catching chins, noses, stomachs and temples. Steve took more blows than he landed but Bucky had always been capable of throwing a solid punch, and even the kid fought with surprisingly scrappy ferocity.

The kid’s cap was suddenly knocked off and a cascade of brown curls tumbled out. The leader of the gang stared in wide-eyed horror.

“It’s a girl!”

“Let’s get outta here. Quick!”

The four boys turned-tail and ran, disappearing into the crowd. Bruised, bloodied and panting — but grinning nonetheless — Steve, Bucky and the kid watched them go, shouting insults and crowing at their victory. Steve was sporting a bloodied nose whilst the kid had a splotch of red around her eye that would bloom into a magnificent shiner. Only Bucky appeared to be unscathed although his knuckles were the bloodiest of all.

Bucky stooped down and picked up the toy cowboy that had fallen to the floor during the fight. Its arm was bent at an odd angle, but otherwise it appeared to be fine. He offered it to the kid, suddenly embarrassed. “Er… here, I think this is yours.”

The kid took it gratefully and stuffed it into her pocket.

“So what’s the deal? D’you usually dress like that or…?” Bucky asked, tactlessly. Steve rolled his eyes.

“Not usually,” she murmured. 

Before she could continue, a distinctly British voice asked, “Do you have any idea of how much trouble you’re going to be in?”

A gangly third boy, closer to Steve and Bucky’s age than the girl’s, was hanging over a nearby railing. There was a certain resemblance between the boy and girl in the shapes of their faces and shades of their hair. Despite his words, a teasing smile played across the newcomer's face as he approached them. He looked her up and down, taking in her current attire, and said delightedly, “Ooh, mother would throw a fit if she could see you now.”

“Oh Michael, you aren’t going to tell, are you?” the girl implored, also in accented tones.

Michael pretended to think about it. “I suppose that depends; what do I get in return?”

She stuck her chin out defiantly. “I won’t tell mother about those nude-y drawings you traded Freddy your best gloves for.”

Michael gave a great bark of laughter. “You vicious little beast!” he declared, without malice. “All right, then; fine. I won’t tell on you — Scouts honour.”

The girl beamed at him. Michael turned and eyed Steve and Bucky, who had been watching this exchange silently, with open interest. “And who are these two, then?”

“The name’s Bucky — well, James Buchanan Barnes, but most people call me Bucky. This is Steve Rogers,” Bucky introduced them.

“Good to meet you, Barnes; Rogers. Michael Carter,” he said before gesturing to the girl, “And this little terror is my sister, Margaret.”

Margaret winced. “Peggy,” she corrected, “As you fully-well know.”

“Come along, then; best get back quick. The Dudley’s are starting to get suspicious — Ana’s covering for you but she was nearly hysterical when I left, worrying that the worst might have happened. Ana’s our governess,” he added for Bucky and Steve’s benefit.

Peggy had the decency to look abashed. “I didn’t mean to worry her,” she mumbled. She cast a longing look around the amusement park before bursting out, “Oh Michael, please let’s not go back just yet — we’re out now; let’s have some fun!”

Michael also looked around, taking in the many wonders that Luna Park had to offer. He finally turned back to Peggy’s shining, hopeful face and smiled, conceding defeat. “We really are going to be in so much trouble if mother finds out.”

Peggy beamed, as radiant as sunshine poking through an overcast sky. Michael picked up the discarded cap and clapped it onto her head. He turned to Bucky and Steve again.

“What do you say? Fancy showing two out-of-towners around?” he asked cheerily.

Bucky looked to Steve, who gave an easy shrug of compliance, before answering, “Sure.”

The newly formed foursome set off further into the amusement park, with Bucky pointing out the sights and Steve occasionally pitching in. Dominating the furthermost wall of Luna Park, and towering over the lagoon was _The Dragon’s Gorge_ — an enclosed roller coaster and scenic railroad ride. An immense proscenium arch stretching between two minarets hung over the dragon-flanked entrance. The four children joined the queue of waiting riders.

“How come you guys are in Brooklyn?” Bucky asked. 

“Father’s working in the city,” Peggy answered. “He brought us along for a holiday but it’s been frightfully dull.”

“We haven’t seen much of him,” Michael chipped in. “He’s a Parliamentary Undersecretary for the Foreign Office so he’s been in constant meetings. Our ‘holiday’ has mostly been us completing our lessons with Ana and then waiting around for Father to return for dinner. Mother flits in and out; she’s making the most of being in New York to strengthen — what she likes to call — her ‘connections’.”

“She only allowed us to come to the beach today with Ana because her friend’s daughters were coming with their housemaids.”

Michael grinned conspiratorially at the boys. “Catherine and Edith Dudley are two proper little ladies; I think mother was hoping they might rub off on a _certain someone_.”

“They’re complete ninnies,” Peggy declared brutally. “All they do is brush each other’s hair and simper at Michael. It’s _revolting._ ”

Peggy’s assessment of the Dudley daughters brought to Steve’s mind the girls at school. He could appreciate how tiring it was to constantly watch such a display. The queue moved onwards and they shuffled forward. 

“You still haven’t explained this,” Bucky said, gesturing at Peggy’s clothes.

“I’d heard about the Coney funfair and knew that we’d never be allowed to go with the Dudley’s — Ana probably would have let us, if we were on our own. She’s something of a bohemian when Mother isn’t around,” Peggy explained, and there was a note of respectful adoration in her tone. “I knew mother would make us each pack a spare change of clothing so I stole Michael’s out of the bag, changed in the bathhouse and snuck away. It was all relatively easy.”

“Yes, well, luckily for you I noticed that my clothes were missing and had the foresight to bring your spare dress,” Michael told her. “Can you imagine what the Dudley’s would tell their mother if you returned dressed as you are?”

From his pocket, he pulled out a distinctly crumpled wad of blue material. It had clearly been stuffed away with all the carelessness of a boy. Somehow, Steve didn’t think that Peggy would mind this in the slightest.

“Good thinking,” she said, confirming Steve’s theory, as she took the dress and stuffed it into her own pocket.

They moved forwards again. Bucky and Michael struck up a lively conversation about sport: Michael explained how he played cricket back home while Bucky tried to describe the differences between baseball and stickball. Steve lost track of the flow of the conversation fairly quickly and let his eyes wander over his surroundings once more, picking out how the sun glinted off of the water in the lagoon and how the rivulets of sand waved across the faux-beach. He was so absorbed in his observations that he didn’t realise that Peggy was watching him.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

He turned to her and suddenly his tongue felt two-sizes too big in his mouth. “Er, I’m not — I mean, I can’t really… I, er…” he sighed before muttering lamely, “I talk.”

“Do you come to Coney Island very often?” she prompted.

For a moment, Steve hesitated and eyed her suspiciously. After his initial faltering attempts to string a sentence together, this was usually when other children got fed up with him and moved on — Peggy, however, was looking at him with encouraging patience and open curiosity. It was… somewhat unnerving. 

Gathering his courage, he forged on.

“Sometimes, not a lot. Only when we can afford—” Steve cut off, feeling the tips of his ear starting to burn red. “Um, when we feel like it.”

Peggy didn’t comment on his slip. Steve felt as though she understood, though — or, at least, understood as much as anyone in her position could understand. He’d already taken note of the expensive quality of the clothes that she and Michael wore, the fact they had a governess, and a mother who seemingly had a reputation within high-society; not to mention the father in government and the cross-Atlantic trip that the entire family had made. It was clear that the Carter’s were wealthier than most families, and certainly wealthier than both Steve and Bucky whose families barely managed to stay above the poverty line.

And yet, despite this, neither Michael nor Peggy seemed to have any qualms about spending time with two children who were significantly different to them. 

“Why did you feel like it today?” Peggy asked delicately.

“It was my birthday last week,” Steve said before adding with faint pride, “Eleven years old. My mama gave me money and Bucky insisted that he needed to take me on _The Cyclone_.”

“How was it?”

Steve winced at the not-too-distant memory of vomiting. “Dreadful.”

Peggy gave him an impish grin and Steve, without realising it, relaxed in her company. “What d’you think of old Coney, then?”

“It’s wonderful!” she declared sincerely and Steve felt a punch of pride for his hometown.

They were nearly at the front of the queue when Peggy suddenly said, “You know, I could have handled those boys earlier.”

Steve, recalling how tiny she had looked surrounded by the four older kids, nearly laughed until he caught sight of her serious little face. He quickly rearranged his features before saying, tartly, “Gee, most people woulda said ‘thank you’.” 

An indignant frown cut through her brow. “Just so we are clear—”

“Alright, alright,” he said hastily, holding his hands up in surrender. “You coulda handled it.”

She continued to frown at him, studying his face carefully to see if she was being mocked. Finally, her face cleared and she added, somewhat begrudgingly, “Thank you for stepping in.

“You’re a pretty scrappy fighter,” Steve admitted and for the second time that day Peggy’s face radiated with joy. He grinned before adding, “Y’know, for a girl.”

“ _Ooh!_ ” She scowled at him. “I’ll get you back for that one day, Steve Rogers.”

Somehow, Steve recognised that this wouldn’t be an empty threat. 

The four children finally made their way onto _The Dragon’s Gorge_ which took them on an exhilarating ride from the bottom of the sea to the North Pole, Africa and the Grand Canyon. They crashed through a waterfall, travelled over the River Styx and ventured into the Underworld, ruled by Hades. Once finished, they climbed out of the ride, exuberantly recalling their favourite moments.

That afternoon, the foursome created an everlasting friendship as they bounced downhill on _The Tickler,_ marvelled at the Infant Incubators exhibition, and raced against each other on _Shoot the Chutes_. Steve and Bucky even managed to convince Michael and Peggy to try a Coney Dog whose positive verdict (“It’s not half-bad.”) was taken as high praise. After a couple of hours, however, the Carter children guiltily conceded that they really should return to Ana.

Steve and Bucky led their British friends towards the swimming pool where the lockers would allow Peggy to change. She pulled the wadded dress out of her pocket which was more wrinkled than ever, shook it out uselessly and disappeared into the lockers. Whilst they waited, Bucky wasted no time in pointing out the ‘dames’ to Michael and Steve — complete with bawdy commentary. 

They were laughing jovially when Peggy returned, her arms filled with a bundle of Michael’s clothes. “All set?” she asked her brother.

Steve turned and felt an uncomfortable swoon in his belly. Peggy was in a light-blue, puff-sleeved dress with a white Peter Pan collar; she wore it well despite its crinkled state. Steve suddenly found himself tongue-tied again — as though this show of femininity cancelled out the last few hours, which he thought was pretty ridiculous, really. Luckily, he wasn’t required to speak, as Michael was inspecting her audibly.

“Nothing to be done about the shoes, I suppose,” Michael said. Steve realised that she still wore a relatively large pair of brown, lace-up brogues. “How on earth did you even get them to fit?”

“I stuffed them with newspaper,” Peggy said and there was no mistaking the note of pride in her tone at her ingenuity.

"Hey, Steve used t—" Bucky managed to say before Steve stamped on his foot. "Er, never mind."

Peggy looked at them both curiously. She passed the pile of clothes to Michael, "Here, take these a moment."

In her hand, she held a Coney Island pamphlet. “I managed to find this _and_ a pen inside which was bloody good luck,” she said and swiftly ripped the pamphlet into two, handing each half to Steve and Bucky. “I’ve put the name and address of our hotel on the back as well as the suite number. You’ll have to come and visit sometime.”

“Er, yeah, sure,” Bucky answered for them, somewhat stunned at her forward thinking.

“We’ve been here since mid-June and today’s the most fun we’ve had in over three weeks,” she declared.

“She’s not wrong,” Michael pitched in. “Do come and visit; won’t you?”

“Next weekend?” Bucky suggested tentatively. Peggy and Michael gave identical grins. 

“Until next week, then,” Peggy said.

“See you then, chaps,” Michael added. The Carter children turned and left, bickering animatedly about who should be responsible for carrying Michael’s clothes. Steve and Bucky watched until they disappeared into the crowd. Steve turned the ripped pamphlet over and read the information on the back.

“Buck,” he began tentatively, drawing his friend’s attention, “Have you looked at this?”

Bucky read the message over Steve’s shoulder and whistled impressively. “We might be in just a little over our head here,” he said seriously.

Peggy’s neat script read:

_  
Michael and Peggy Carter  
  
_

_St. Regis  
_ _2 East 55th Street  
_ _Manhattan_  
 _New York City_  
  


_Suite 217_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:
> 
> Luna Park: The original Luna Park was built on Coney Island in 1903 but closed in 1944 after one of their main attractions, The Dragon's Gorge burnt down. In it's heyday, it attracted thousands of visitors and housed many different attractions including The Cyclone and Infant Incubators - where real babies were presented to audiences as part of an exhibition.  
> Black Thursday: The name given to Thursday 14th October, 1929 - the first day of the 1929 Wall Street Crash and subsequent Great Depression.  
> 'Cowboys and Indians' - whilst today we recognise that the term 'Indians' is inappropriate to use when referring to the indigenous peoples of the Americas, it would have been a historically accurate term used in 1930. This has not been used to cause offence but merely to reflect the time period.


	3. Part I: Two

**Chapter Two**

The following Saturday dawned bright and clear — Steve woke up extra early, too excited and nervous to sleep. All week he had been distracted and jittery with the anticipation of meeting his new friends again. He often found himself wondering what Michael and Peggy were up to. He’d even been caught daydreaming in class, thus missing a direct question, and been reprimanded severely. The marks on the back of his hand still shone purply-red from where Principal Malik had rapped a ruler across the knuckles.

Steve climbed out of bed, tucked in the bedclothes and threw open the curtains. Sunlight trickled into his room at a slanted angle as he turned and crossed his tiny bedroom. The Rogers’ apartment was pokey but homely; Steve’s bedroom and his mama’s were adjacent to each other, opening out directly into the living room. An aged, sagging couch and his mama’s floral armchair took up most of the floor space. In the far left-hand corner, a simple hutch filled with crockery stood beside the central gas fireplace that, more often than not, they couldn’t afford to light. In the height of winter, when it was cold enough to see their breath indoors, Sarah Rogers would consent to lighting it for an hour a day — during this time, Steve enjoyed lounging on his belly in front of the fire, protected from the cold linoleum floor by a singed, threadbare rug, either reading or colouring. 

On the mantle above the fire, a photo of baby Steve proudly stood in the centre. On the left of this was a military portrait of the father Steve never knew and then on the right a photograph of Sarah and Joseph Rogers on their wedding day.

On the right-hand side of the room, the kitchenette (which was only big enough for one person to navigate their way around at a time) was separated from the living room by a breakfast bar. A stove, single food cupboard, washtub and ironing board set took up most of the space. At the end of the breakfast bar, a pillar stretched from floor to ceiling. Marks gouged into the wood documented Steve’s height progression since infancy — although no marks had been added in over a year.

Steve padded towards the bathroom and relieved himself. Located beside his mama’s bedroom, the windowless room contained a toilet, sink and medicine cabinet with a cracked mirror-face. Steve pulled the chain on the toilet and shed himself of his pyjamas. Half-filling the sink’s basin with the almost-warm water, he vigorously washed himself with the hard sliver of carbolic soap. Once clean, Steve took a scratchy towel off of a hook on the door and wrapped it around his goose-pimpled body.

For a long moment, he stared at himself in the mirror, critically eyeing the mop of blond hair that fell into his eyes. His mama had meant to cut it earlier in the week but she’d been busy at the hospital, covering double and sometimes even triple shifts. Running the tap again, Steve cupped handfuls of cold water and poured them over his head, shuddering as the rivulets raced down his spine. Once his hair was fully saturated, he turned the tap off and opened the medicine cabinet, taking down the tortoiseshell comb that had once belonged to his father. Aside from a few missing tines, the comb had been well-cared for over the years.

Steve pulled the comb through his hair, trying to make the blond locks sit neatly but they still flicked outwards at the ends and fell into his eyes. Decisively, he knotted the towel around his waist, turned from the bathroom and headed back out into the living room. Crossing to his mama’s basket of darning, he rummaged around before retrieving the large and, unbeknown to him, mostly blunt scissors.

Grabbing the first lock of hair that he could see, Steve pulled it taut and cut. The scissors jammed halfway through. He sawed back and forth until the blades were free and he was clutching his first fistful of hair. Letting it drop to the floor, he picked another. A second hank of hair fell to the floor. With mounting confidence, Steve grabbed and snipped with increasing frenzy until a pile of hair collected at his feet.

Steve threw the scissors back into the darning basket, feeling immensely proud of himself. Dropping to his knees, he swept the discarded hair into his hands and disposed of it in the trash can in the kitchenette. Steve then returned to the bathroom to admire his handiwork. 

Catching sight of himself in the mirror, he recoiled backwards in horror at the reflected image. His stomach gave a sickening lurch.

The back of his hair was still thick and curling at the ends whilst the front of his hair was jaggedly uneven and, in some places, shorn so short that only spiky bristles remained. Steve could only gape wordlessly at his reflection. 

The sound of a key being inserted into the front door made Steve jump. He bolted back to his bedroom, grabbed a shirt from his closet and slung it over his head before Sarah Rogers had even fully made it through the front door.

“G’morning, Mama,” he greeted, voice muffled from the shirt he was pretending to struggle with. He wasn’t yet prepared for her reaction to his new hairstyle. 

Sarah moved through the apartment and stopped in his bedroom doorway. Although her image was muted by the fabric, Steve could imagine what she looked like — leaning into the doorway in her nurse’s uniform looking tired and wan but wearing her special smile, reserved just for him.

“You’re up early.”

“Heading out later with Buck,” he explained.

“Ahh, I see,” she said. “Going to meet this Michael and Peggy I’ve been hearing all about, hm?”

There was an ever so slight emphasis on the name ‘Peggy’ which made Steve groan.

“ _Mama_.”

“Yes?” she asked, entirely too-innocently.

“Don’t get all mushy,” Steve said. “She’s a kid.”

“As are you.”

“No, I mean she’s a _kid-_ kid.”

“Alright, alright; she’s a _kid-_ kid,” Sarah relented, amusement laced through her tone. There was a pause as Steve gave the shirt a few halfhearted tugs. “D’you need a hand with that?”

“No, thanks; I’ve got it,” Steve said.

She crossed the room and planted a kiss on the top of his covered head. “I’m going to bed for a few hours,” she told him. “When you go out, take the spare key with you and try not to slam the door - y’know what old Mrs Blonsky’s like.”

Steve grinned. “I won’t, Mama.”

Sarah turned and retreated from the bedroom. Steve waited until he heard her bedroom door close and heaved a sigh of relief, glad that she hadn’t insisted on helping him with his shirt. Popping his head through the collar, he tentatively stroked the front of his hair, feeling the uneven cut.

Steve dressed slowly, resigning himself to the fact that he would have to make his excuses when Bucky arrived and forgo visiting Michael and Peggy. Once dressed, he flopped down on his bed, miserably wondering whether Bucky would still go into the city without him. If Bucky did go without Steve then perhaps Michael and Peggy would realise how much fun they had as a group of three, and Steve wouldn’t be invited again. Alternatively, if neither boy turned up then perhaps the Carter’s would be offended and thus end their friendship entirely.

Steve wasn’t sure which option he disliked more. Two images spiralled through his head, as though a film reel was playing on a continuous loop: in the first version, Bucky, Michael and Peggy played together, laughing and enjoying each other’s company without once mentioning Steve; in the second, Michael and Peggy sat staring at a clock, watching the hours slip away as they waited for the two boys from Brooklyn to arrive — first in anticipation, then in disappointment, and finally in furious indignation.

A smart rap on the front door broke through Steve’s thoughts and he jumped up, realising how late in the morning it had gotten. The sun was shining more fiercely into his room now. He dropped to all fours and hastily rummaged under his bed, pulling out a dusty knit cap which he slapped onto his head. Hurrying to the front door, he pulled it open to reveal Bucky with his easy grin.

“What have you got that on for?” Bucky asked, by way of greeting, eyeing the unseasonable hat on Steve’s head.

“I can’t go; I don’t… I don’t feel very well,” Steve lied, feeling like a heel. 

“But you haven’t stopped going on about it all week!”

“You’ll just have to go without me,” Steve mumbled lousily, looking anywhere but at his friend.

“What’s wrong with you?” 

Steve stammered for a moment but couldn’t think of a lie quick enough. Bucky’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

“Alright, Steve, quit horsin' around. What’s really going on?”

“I already told you…” 

“Mm-hm.” Bucky suddenly reached out and made a snatch for the top of the knit cap. With surprising agility, Steve managed to duck away from his grasping fingers. 

“Bucky, don’t!”

Bucky reached out again and the two boys scuffled in the doorway. Bucky pinched the cap between his fingers and tore it away from Steve’s head. The latters hair (or lack, thereof) fell into place. Bucky’s frown sagged into shock before the corners of his mouth twitched and his eyes danced with delighted amusement.

“Go on, laugh it up,” Steve said miserably.

Bucky quickly sucked his lips between his teeth and bit down on them, trying to contain himself. Once the initial urge to laugh passed, he blew them out noisily. “It ain’t so bad,” Bucky managed to say, his voice higher than usual with suppressed mirth. 

“Yeah, right,” Steve scoffed. “Now you know why I can’t go; you’ll just have to go without me.”

“C’mon, Steve,” Bucky implored, “No one’ll even notice — it’s just a few hairs.”

“Easy for you to say,” Steve said, glaring resentfully at Bucky’s neatly parted locks. He ran a hand over his own head again, feeling the prickly bristles. “I look like a moron. Michael and Peggy’d never wanna be friends with me, looking like this.”

“What a loada baloney,” Bucky replied impatiently. “Ya really gonna let one bad haircut ruin your entire weekend? Now _that’s_ what I’d call moronic.”

The image of Bucky, Michael and Peggy having fun without him played again across Steve’s mind. He felt his resolve starting to crumble.

“You’ll regret not going a helluva lot more than if you do,” Bucky said temptingly.

“Alright, fine,” Steve finally conceded, “but I’m keeping the hat on.”

Snatching it out of Bucky’s hand, he replaced it back onto his head and tucked his hair up beneath the folded brim. It made his face look even thinner and more pointed than usual. Bucky raised his eyebrows skeptically, wondering whether it would be worth reminding Steve that they were in the height of summer but, with a shrug, chose not to — at this point, he was simply glad to have gotten his friend to agree to leave the house.  
  


* * *

  
Three train rides later, Steve and Bucky emerged out of the sooty subway and into brilliant sunshine on a busy, vibrant street. They’d pooled together the last of Steve’s birthday money and the savings Bucky had painstakingly collected whilst working afternoons as a paperboy to pay for their train fare. Tucking their tickets safely away, they started walking in the general direction of their destination.

Despite living so close, the boys rarely ventured into the city. It took them a significant while to find their way and they were often distracted by various marvels: monolithic buildings that stretched into the sky, automobiles squawking their horns, construction sites with half-formed structures and, in Bucky’s case, the girls that passed by. They followed the numbered street signs and clutched the slip of pamphlet that Peggy had given them, checking and re-checking every few moments as though the message inked on paper might suddenly change. 

Finally, they stopped outside a towering, grand building. Gold lettering on a strip of black showed that they had arrived at the _St. Regis._ Opened in 1904 by John Jacob Astor IV, the _St. Regis_ adopted the Parisian architectural style, _Beaux-Arts_ ; a mixture of French neoclassicism with Gothic and Renaissance elements. The natural stone had been sculpted and manipulated to include ornamental festoons, balustrades and pilasters. Framing the centre of the hotel were two sets of steps, each leading up to an elegant archway. Within the archway, a revolving door permitted entry to guests and the warm, golden light of the lobby spilled through the glass panels.

It was an elegant mixture of inviting and intimidating. 

Bucky and Steve stood rooted to the spot, open-mouthed with awe. Doormen in black overcoats with gold piping and matching peaked caps escorted guests from automobiles to the front entrance whilst bellboys in red, gold and black uniforms unloaded luggage from the trunk and carried it into the hotel.

The two children were brought back to themselves as other pedestrians on the sidewalk jostled them out of the way. Bucky jogged towards the entrance, climbing the red-carpeted stairs with Steve trailing behind, still looking around dazedly. Bucky’s path was suddenly blocked by one of the doormen. He sneered down a long, pointed nose at the two boys, taking in Bucky’s shirt that had been darned in many places and Steve’s fraying knit cap. 

“May I help you?”

“We’re here to see our friends,” said Bucky.

The doorman gave an unpleasant titter. “I’m sure any friends of _yours_ wouldn’t be welcome in an establishment such as this.”

Bucky’s temper flared. “And what’s that s’pose to mean?”

The doorman didn’t respond, instead giving the two children a sardonic smile. Bucky waved the torn pamphlet in his face.

“Look here,” he said. “Michael and Peggy Carter; Suite 217 — now let us up!”

“On your way, thank you,” the doorman replied, without looking at the pamphlet, “Or we will be forced to call the authorities.”

Two high spots of colour were starting to form on Bucky’s indignant face. “You think you’re real great just ‘cause you’ve got this lousy job; all you do all day is open car doors for folks who’re bigger ‘n’ better than you!”

Steve tugged on Bucky’s sleeve. Humiliation at their rejection was eating away at him like acid. “Buck, c’mon — let’s go,” he said quietly. 

The doorman continued to smile unpleasantly at them as they turned and walked away. Bucky’s hands were balled into tight fists and he was quaking with suppressed rage. Steve’s stomach continued to churn unpleasantly and an acrid taste filled his mouth.

“That guy was a jerk!” Bucky burst out when they were out of earshot.

“Yeah, well…” Steve mumbled dejectedly. 

What had they honestly expected? It wasn’t usual for children like the Carter’s to befriend children like him and Bucky. Sure, friendship had come easily last week when they’d been revelling in their victory against the bullies but, somehow, that seemed like a long time ago now. Perhaps it had only been the wonder of Coney Island that had suspended the rules for a few hours and now the real world was kicking in again, reminding Steve and Bucky of where their place truly was.

“Ya got balls, kid.”

Steve and Bucky both spun around. In a narrow alley between the _St. Regis_ and the building next door, a young man wearing the bellboy uniform of the hotel was lounging against the wall, smoking a cigarette. He’d discarded his hat and his dark hair hung in curtains around his face. The top button of his jacket was undone, revealing a sleeveless shirt underneath. Overall, he didn’t appear to uphold the elegance that the hotel was famed for. 

“Stickin’ up to old Torrance like that,” the man continued. “You said what half of us bellboys have been thinkin’ for a long time.”

“Er, thanks,” Bucky said, uncertainly.

“Joe,” the man introduced, holding out his hand. Bucky and Steve took it in turns to shake because it was the polite thing to do and introduced themselves. Joe sucked on his cigarette until it was a tiny stub and then flicked it away. He eyed the two boys interestedly before releasing the smoke in a steady stream. “So whaddya think ya doin’, tryin’ t'walk through the front door of the _Regis_?”

“Our friends invited us,” Bucky said defensively. He held out the pamphlet that was still clutched in his hand — although a little crumpled now from his clenched fists. 

Joe took it and read the information. He nodded to himself. “Oh yeah, I know these two — good kids. Brits. Ma’s got a great pair of…” he trailed off sheepishly and handed back the pamphlet. “Look, I can’t get you in — it’d be more’n my job’s worth if Torrance found out and complained to management — but I could maybe get a message to the room for you.”

“Great! Tell them—”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Joe cut over Bucky, holding his hands out in front of him. “Now you’re a smart kid; y’know nothing comes free in this world. So, what do I get for helping?”

“That’s extortion,” Steve accused. 

“Yeah, yeah; cry me a river, kid. You wanna get a message to them, or not?”

Bucky and Steve exchanged a look before Bucky turned to Joe, looking suspicious. “How do we know you’re actually gonna deliver our message?”

Joe pushed off of the wall, shrugging. “Hey, don’t mind me; if ya got an alternative delivery boy waitin’ to take ya message, then…” he left the sentence hanging.

Bucky sighed. “How much is this gonna cost us?”

Joe flashed a grin. “How much ya got?”

Bucky pulled out his battered wallet and counted the contents. “Four dollars and sixty eight cents.”

Joe slapped his forehead comically. “Well, whaddya know? That’s exactly how much it costs to deliver one message,” he paused and then added, “Ya know what? I like ya, so I’ll knock off the sixty eight cents.”

Bucky started to pull out the assembled notes and coins and Steve didn’t miss the faintly crushed look on his face as he prepared to hand over the last of his savings. Steve stepped between Joe and Bucky, looking fiercely at the bellboy.

“Is this what you do all day? Lounge around outside the hotel, smoking cigarettes and swindling people? You’re nothing but a cheap crook,” Steve accused.

Joe pointed a finger in Steve’s face, his easy charm slipping and there was a definite threat in his cold, blue eyes. “Watch ya mouth, kid.”

“Ignore him. Here,” Bucky said, elbowing Steve out of the way and dropping the money into Joe’s outstretched palm. He relayed the message that he wanted delivered to Michael and Peggy. “Thanks.”

“You should teach ya friend some manners,” Joe told Bucky before fixing his steely gaze on Steve again. “Ya lucky my nonna ain’t around to hear how you disrespect me; she’s gutted men with a kitchen knife for less.”

Joe turned on his heel and marched down the alley towards a service door, fixing his uniform as he went. They watched until he disappeared back into the hotel before Bucky turned to Steve, giving him an exasperated look.

“Why d’you always gotta do that?”

“Do what?” Steve asked peevishly, “That guy _is_ a crook. You shouldn’ta given him your money.”

“D’you see anyone else offering to help us? Even paid help is better than none,” Bucky said before sighing — he really didn’t want to argue about this. “C’mon, we need to keep an eye on the entrance in case they do come out.”

Bucky turned and started to walk across the street and, after a moment, Steve followed him. Once across, they lolled against the railings of a building opposite the _St. Regis_ as the doorman, Torrance, continued to usher guests in and out of the hotel.   
  


* * *

  
Towering above the (somewhat) patiently waiting Steve and Bucky, Michael and Peggy participated in their lessons, copying from their respective textbooks under the vigilant supervision of Ana, who made the occasional comment or suggestion for a misspelt word or incorrect concept. From Michael and Peggy’s previous experience, Governesses were what they liked to call ‘the three S’s’ - Strict, Stuffy Spinsters, who always wore grey and never deemed to smile. 

Ana Simko, therefore, was a breath of fresh air; originally from Hungary, she was fairly young with vibrant red hair that was usually twisted into braids and then wound around her head. She wore eye-watering florals, bright shades of green and was very rarely ever cross. Ana delivered all of Peggy’s lessons at home and Michael joined when he wasn’t attending Boarding School. 

If Lady Amanda Carter sometimes disapproved of Ana’s perceived eccentricities, then she was at least satisfied with the schooling and progress of the children — both of whom fervently expressed their admiration for the governess. This, in itself, was a blessing.

Amanda could still recall the embarrassment and shame she had felt following the frogspawn incident. Both children had been straight-faced and tight-lipped when the study room door had been thrown open three years previously at their home in Hampstead, and their governess, Miss Fry had ran out, hair splattered with frogspawn and shrieking that the children were devils. To this day, Michael still claimed that it was a nature study experiment gone wrong but Amanda suspected that Margaret’s scheming fingers were all over it. Either way, Miss Fry immediately packed her bags and the agency refused to send another replacement.

That September, Michael had started boarding school and a different agency had provided them with Ana — so far, there had been no incidents. Even so, Amanda was convinced that Margaret would turn her prematurely grey. Since a young age, her daughter had been unruly, preferring to roughhouse with the boys than play quietly with other young ladies. Her hope was that Margaret would eventually grow out of this, otherwise she dreaded to think what drastic action she and Harrison would have to take.

Amanda was currently locked away in the ensuite bathroom, bathing before this evening’s meal whilst the children worked. She had requested not to be disturbed and, so far, her order had been followed. 

In the large, comfortably furnished living room, Peggy and Michael were starting to grow bored with their studies. Peggy dropped her pencil mid sentence.

“Ana, why must we keep working?” she asked with a little whine. “We’re on _holiday_ \- let’s do something fun!”

“Don’t you think you had enough fun _last weekend_?” Ana replied dryly in her lightly accented voice, raising an eyebrow.

“We said ‘sorry’, Ana; haven’t you forgiven us yet?”

“Yes, haven’t you forgiven us?” Peggy repeated. She made her eyes large, round and entirely too-innocent looking.

“Oh no,” Ana said with a laugh, “Don’t you try that with me, little Miss.”

“Why? Is it working?” Peggy asked with a grin. 

There was a knock at the front door of the suite and Mr. Doobin, the butler, answered it to a bellboy carrying an armful of dry cleaning containing Amanda’s evening gowns. There was a discreet exchange of a monetary tip. The bellboy looked interestedly at the two Carter children before the door was firmly closed. Mr. Doobin carried the garment bags towards the master bedroom to pack away into the closet and a slip of crumpled paper fell from between the folds of fabric to the floor. Ana crossed the room and retrieved it, scanning the front and then reading the messages written on the back — Peggy’s distinctive handwriting followed by an unrecognisable scrawl.

“What’s this?” Ana asked curiously.

The two children crowded around and also read the note.

“They remembered!” Peggy exclaimed.

“I told you they would,” Michael replied, beaming.

“‘Bucky and Steve; waiting outside; Be there until two-thirty’,” Ana read. She looked up at Peggy and Michael. “Are these the two boys you told me about? The ones from the funfair?”

“Yes,” said Peggy, excitedly. “I gave them our address and told them to visit us this weekend.”

“ _Elgurult a gyógyszered!_ ” Ana exclaimed, “What were you thinking? We’re already hoping your disappearing act won’t be reported back to your mother by the Dudley’s, and now you’ve invited these boys to the hotel!”

“It’ll be fine, Ana,” Peggy reassured, surprised at their governess’ lack of calm. “If mother asks, we’ll just tell her that we met them in the park.”

“Besides, now that we know they’re outside, they needn’t come up at all — we can go down to them,” Michael added. He hesitated before adding, “You will let us meet them, won’t you?”

Ana looked between each of their hopeful faces. “It’s worrying how many lies roll so easily off of your tongues,” she said with a sigh before relenting, “Fine; you may go down but you _must_ be back by four o’clock to prepare for dinner. No excuses.”

“We promise,” Michael said, nodding vigorously.

“Four o’clock, on the dot!” Peggy added before both she and her brother scurried off to get ready to leave.  
  


* * *

  
Across the street from the _St. Regis_ , Steve and Bucky continued to wait. They kept one eye fixed on the entrance and the other on the sidewalk clock half a block away. The time was steadily counting down to their deadline of two-thirty. Steve couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if two-thirty arrived and neither Michael nor Peggy made an appearance; would he and Bucky leave straight away or would they stay rooted in their position, giving each other excuses about why the Carter’s might be running late until the hours dwindled away and it grew dark?

Finally, two familiar children clattered down the front steps, talking animatedly. They stopped on the sidewalk and looked around expectantly. Steve nudged Bucky who grinned and the pair of them made their way back across the street. Michael and Peggy wore matching beams upon seeing them.

“Hullo,” Michael greeted. “Found us all right then?”

“Piece o’ cake,” Bucky said smoothly.

Michael looked interestedly at Steve. “What’s with the hat?” 

Steve stammered unintelligibly until Bucky stepped in. “He’s caught a chill,” he lied, “The best way to get rid of it is to sweat it out.”

“Are you sure you want to be out today?” Peggy asked Steve sympathetically.

“M’okay,” he mumbled.

“You’re lucky we found your note; it had been slipped between some of mother’s dresses,” Peggy said. “Goodness knows what would have happened if she’d found it. Why didn’t you come up to the suite?”

Steve fidgeted embarrassedly and Bucky hesitated before retelling them, briefly, what had happened with the doorman. Peggy’s eyes narrowed as she listened until they were two hard slits. Once Bucky finished, she asked him to point out the doorman responsible and he immediately nodded his head towards Torrance. The boys watched, incredulously, as Peggy marched up to him.

“Excuse me?” she said in a loud, carrying voice. Drawing herself up to her full height (which wasn’t saying much), she continued regally, “These boys, whom you so ungraciously denied entry into the hotel, are friends of mine and therefore will be shown the proper respect that they deserve. The next time they visit, you will allow them in without questions asked. And,” she added, “you will inform the other doormen too. Unless, of course, you would rather I speak with the hotel manager?”

Torrance gaped at her for a moment. Then, in an unctuous tone said, “Why of course, Mistress Carter. It would be my… _pleasure_ to permit any friends of yours.”

“That will be all,” she dismissed. 

Without waiting for an answer, Peggy skipped back to the waiting boys. Steve and Bucky looked in equal parts pleased and embarrassed. Michael guffawed with laughter.

“Sometimes, I forget that you’re mother’s daughter, and then you go and do something like that.”

“Yes, well,” she began, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “He shouldn’t be such a rude arse then.”

Michael nudged Bucky in the ribs. “She’s back to normal.”

Peggy grinned as though Michael had just paid her a great compliment. She pirouetted on the spot, taking in the immediate sights of the city. “Where to first?” she asked eagerly.

“How about Central Park?” Steve suggested, naming the first place that he could think of. “Have you been there yet?”

“Only in passing,” Michael replied.

“To Central Park,” Bucky declared as though they were embarking on a great expedition, rather than just walking a few blocks.

Bucky and Steve took the lead, guiding the Carter children up Fifth Avenue towards where the buildings parted for greenery. The four children stopped at the final crossing and marvelled at the size of the urban park as it disappeared towards the north. At the edge of the park, lines of horse-drawn carriages waited patiently to take passengers for a ride. Peggy looked excitedly at Bucky and Steve.

“Can we ride in one of the carriages?” she asked.

Steve exchanged a look with Bucky before turning back to the excitable nine-year-old. “They can be a little pricey,” he said slowly, the apology already lacing into his tone. “We, er, used up our money today.”

“Not a problem,” Michael said cheerfully, “Our treat.”

“We can’t let you do that,” Bucky protested.

“Nonsense. You came all the way into the city to meet us; this is the least we can do.”

It was clear that there wasn’t room for argument so the two boys from Brooklyn agreed with reluctant smiles. The four children walked towards the first horse owner in the queue and Michael paid the fare before the four of them climbed into the carriage. 

Steve and Bucky rode backwards, facing Michael and Peggy whose faces lit up with delight as the driver climbed aboard and started to set the horse in motion. They were taken on a long, scenic route through the park that led them past sweeping lawns, rocky outcrops and large bodies of water. At this moment, it was hard to believe that this serene parkland would shortly be reduced to a shantytown as impoverished families lost their homes and flocked to what Charles Michelson would coin ‘Hoovervilles’. 

“How much longer d’you think you’ll be in New York?” Bucky asked as they bounced along in the carriage.

“A couple more weeks,” Michael replied. “Father’s close to finishing his trade deal, one way or another. Once that’s completed, he’ll spend a few days relaxing and then we’ll all head back to merry old England. I’ll have to return to boarding school, of course, until the summer holidays arrive.”

The next few minutes passed with Steve and Bucky quizzing Michael on attending an all-boys boarding school. They wanted to know everything, from the quality of meals to lessons to extra-curricular activities and, in Bucky’s case, how Michael manages without girls in his classes. Michael laughingly told him that it made studying easier as there were less distractions — although at the weekends, he and his friends would leave the school and flirt with the local village’s daughters. Michael started to tell a rather bawdy story about how he and his friends liked to hang around the village square and try to guess which girls had started wearing brassieres. 

Peggy tsked disgustedly. “You are repugnant.”

Bucky, however, was howling with laughter and encouraged Michael to tell him more. Ignoring his sister, Michael went into detail about how a person might tell the difference. Peggy folded her arms and turned away bad-temperedly. She noticed that Steve didn’t appear to be involved in the boys’ conversation; he was shifting uncomfortably in his seat, tugging furtively at the collar of his shirt as a bead of sweat ran down the side of his face from beneath the knit cap. His neck and cheeks were rosy.

It was a blazingly hot day and there was no respite from the heat in the shadeless carriage. 

“Steve,” she said quietly and kindly, “You seem ever so hot. Perhaps the chill has passed now. Why don’t you remove the cap?”

Steve gave her a panicked look. “I can’t,” he said, his voice strangled.

Peggy looked at him in surprise. “Whyever not?”

Steve glanced down at his knees. “You’ll laugh at me.”

“No, I won’t,” she said, quiet and earnest.

“You will,” Steve promised. His expression was one of someone facing the gallows rather than simply removing a hat, as he tugged the knit cap off of his sweaty brow and revealed his jagged haircut. He continued to stare at his knees, cheeks now crimson with embarrassment rather than heat.

“Oh, Steve,” Peggy said sympathetically. 

Michael cut off from his conversation with Bucky mid-sentence as he caught a look at Steve’s hair. “Good God!” he exclaimed, delightedly, “What’s happened to you?”

Peggy shot him a filthy look and Michael stalled. “Er, I mean…” he trailed off uselessly, finally taking in Steve’s defeated and humiliated body language. He quickly changed tact, “We’ve all been there; our last governess, Miss Fry, once gave me the most frightful haircut — do you remember, Peg? The back and sides were two inches higher than they should have been; I looked as though I was due to take up orders in a monastery. All I needed was a shaven pate.”

A small, reluctant grin tugged at Steve’s full lips. 

“Who did it to you, then? Your mother?”

Steve took a deep breath and said in a rush, “I-did-it-myself.”

There was a pregnant pause. “Well, I’d say you were jolly well brave cutting your own hair. It may not have worked out the way you wanted it to but,” Michael gave an exaggerated shudder, “I surely wouldn’t have had the guts to do it.”

Steve looked up hopefully. “You think I have guts?”

“Of course you do!”

Steve tugged on a few strands. “I only wanted to trim the ends so that it didn’t look so messy but I kinda got carried away and…”

He trailed off as his original mortification gave away to laughter. It started as a snigger and then a grin before finally his shoulders shuddered and his eyes filled with tears of mirth. Bucky, Michael and Peggy, witnessing Steve’s infectious humour, started to laugh as well until the carriage was filled with four roaring children. Each time they would calm down, one of them would catch the other’s eye or look at Steve’s hair and it would set them off again. 

The giggles finally subsided and the children were able to catch their breaths again as the carriage pulled to a stop after completing it’s great loop of the park. They thanked the driver profusely and climbed down onto the cobbled sidewalk again. Steve’s cap had been stuffed into his pocket and he was grinning from ear-to-ear. 

“Where to next?” he asked, “There’s a menagerie in the park, if you want to see it.”

The Carter children expressed their excitement at the prospect and so they entered the park, Steve and Bucky leading them down narrow paths where the carriage couldn’t have travelled. They reached the menagerie which was popular with tourists due to its omission of an entrance fee. The children wandered between cages housing exciting animals such as gorillas, a rhinoceros, a bison and even a pack of wolves, however were left relatively disappointed; the buildings were crumbling, the smell was awful and the animals looked downcast and neglected. 

By the time they wandered out of Central Park, it was fast approaching Ana’s curfew for the Carter children. Steve and Bucky offered to walk them back to the hotel but they assured them that they remembered the way, so instead the four of them headed towards the subway that the boys would need to take back to Brooklyn.

“What are you doing this Friday?” Bucky asked as they walked.

“Mother and Father are taking us to the theatre,” Michael said. “It should be exciting but I’m sure they’ve chosen something frightfully dull to watch.”

“What about Thursday?”

“Nothing, as far as I’m aware. Just dinner.”

“Would you like to come for dinner at my home?” Bucky offered. Steve eyed him with surprise; after seeing the grandeur of where Michael and Peggy were currently living, he hadn’t expected either of them to invite the Carter’s to Brooklyn. Bucky looked serious, however.

Peggy’s face lit up. “Are you sure we’d be allowed?”

He shrugged easily. “‘Course; Ma won’t mind — she always cooks more for Steve here, anyway, just in case he comes by.”

Michael looked with interest at Steve. “You can just drop in whenever? No invitation needed?”

Steve nodded. “Well, yeah,” he said, as though this was the most natural thing in the world.

“How splendid,” Michael said, delighted at this new concept. “In that case then we’d be more than happy to share dinner with you.”

Bucky pulled out the crumpled Coney Island pamphlet which was fast becoming their easiest way of communicating. Steve produced from his pocket a tiny stub of a pencil which he gave to Bucky who quickly wrote down his address and the time for dinner. He hesitated before handing the paper over.

“You sure you wanna come to Brooklyn? It ain’t like this place,” he said, gesturing around at the well-to-do Midtown.

“We’d like nothing more,” Peggy said sincerely.

Bucky gave a shy smile and handed the paper over. They said their goodbyes before Steve and Bucky disappeared down into the subway to catch the first of their three trains home. 

“Are you sure inviting them to our place was a good idea?” Steve asked anxiously, once they were underground and out of earshot.

“You heard ‘em; they wanna come,” Bucky said. “Look, Steve, they don’t treat us no different because we’re down in the mud compared to them — maybe it’s time we start doing the same.”

Steve had always been content with his homelife and place in the world; he’d never felt the need to better himself in terms of society. After a few days with the Carter children, however, he’d started to doubt his background and found himself constantly comparing what he didn’t have to what they did. Bucky gave him a patient smile, as though he was able to read Steve’s thoughts.

“Maybe it’s not only rich folks who can be snobby, huh?”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Bucky replied, his words nearly swallowed by the clattering of the train as it arrived at their station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thank you for reading! I hope you have enjoyed this latest instalment. 
> 
> BACKGROUND INFORMATION:  
> \- In 1930, Bucky's savings of $4 would equate to roughly $62 by today's standards (2020)  
> \- Amanda Carter has been updated for this story: instead of the warm, bumbling woman introduced to us in Agent Carter S2 who is always misplacing her handkerchief, Lady Amanda Carter is a socialite who believes in status as power. Whenever I picture her, I think of Emily Tallis from 'Atonement' or Anne Hamilton in 'The Notebook'.  
> \- 'The carriage tour of Central Park dates back to the opening of the park to the public in 1858. Frederick Law Olmsted designed Central Park’s curving drives to offer beautiful vistas, best viewed from a carriage, at every turn.' (Taken from Iconic New York - The History Behind the Icon). Whilst other carriage tours in major cities have fallen to decline, the horse carriages of NYC have survived the Great Depression, both World Wars, and various mayoral changes.  
> \- The Central Park Hooverville (a shanty town created during the Great Depression in many American cities and named as such due to the Presidency of Herbert Hoover) really came into fruition between 1931 and 1938. The reservoir, which had been drained for filling but then abandoned by the construction company due to the Depression, became the home to many families who had lost their homes.
> 
> TRANSLATIONS:  
> \- "Elgurult a gyógyszered!" (Hu.) Roll your pills away: a Hungarian expression roughly equating to 'Have you gone mad?'
> 
> CHARACTER INFORMATION:  
> \- Torrance, the host of the Arena Club from Agent Carter S2, playing the role of Torrance the Doorman  
> \- Joseph Manfredi from Agent Carter S2 playing the role of Joe the Bellboy  
> \- Ana Jarvis from Agent Carter S2 playing the role of Ana Simko, governess to Michael and Peggy  
> \- Miriam Fry from Agent Carter S1 playing the role of Miss Fry, Michael and Peggy's former governess  
> \- Alexander Doobin from Agent Carter S1 playing the role of Mr. Doobin, the butler to the Carter household


	4. Part I: Three

**Chapter Three  
**

The air was heavy with anticipation. Bucky stepped up to the discarded hat that was acting as home plate and used his forearm to swipe sweat away from his brow. Bending his knees, he swung the splintered broomstick handle over his shoulder and squinted at the pitcher waiting down the street. Two crude foul lines of chalk had been drawn on the street, meeting in a V where the cap lay. The other bases consisted of a trash can outside the family-run hardware store, a manhole cover further down the street and a fire hydrant near _Brooklyn Antiques_ — all of which were loaded with his teammates.

An elastic band ball — slowly formed over many months from the elastics discreetly swiped from school — flicked out of the hand of the pitcher. The swish and crack of the stick cut through the jeers of the opposing team as Bucky hit his mark. The ball sailed through the air, hit the overhang of _Brooklyn Antiques_ and skittered down into the gutter. The outfielders scrambled to collect and return the ball as Bucky sprinted between the bases, plimpsoled feet pounding across the sun-baked tarmac.

The other batters raced towards homebase with Bucky close behind them, aiming for a homerun. 

From the waiting line of batters, shouts of encouragement followed their teammates as they ran. Steve cheered his best friend on loudest of all as the outfielders lobbed the ball between themselves. The first, second and third batters all returned safely until only Bucky was left. He sprinted hard, eyes fixed determinedly on the final plate.

The elastic band ball arced into the waiting hands of the last fielder. Excitedly, he stamped his foot down on homebase. From the line of batters, the cheers of encouragement turned to groans of disappointment as Bucky decelerated to a jog before finally stopping. 

“Bad luck, Buck.”

Bucky gave an unaffected shug as he returned to the batters. “You can’t win ‘em all.”

Picking up the discarded broom handle, he passed it to Steve who was next up to bat. The pitcher cupped two hands around his mouth and shouted to his team, “Bring it in, boys! He ain’t got a hard whack in him!”

The outfielders moved their positions insultingly closer.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Bucky said encouragingly.

Steve took his place to bat, holding the broomstick over one spindly shoulder. The pitcher threw the ball and Steve immediately swung. The ball soared straight into the waiting hands of the catcher who immediately flicked it back. A collective groan rose from Steve’s team. 

“Knock it off,” Bucky berated before calling to Steve, “C’mon Steve, you’ve got this!”

“Forget it, Rogers,” the catcher said from behind him, his tone full of spite. “You’re such a blockhead; why don’t you go back to fingerpaintin’ like the other babies?”

Steve gritted his teeth. Gilmore Hodge — one of the biggest bullies in the neighbourhood. Hodge was tall, burly and athletic. In many ways he was similar to Bucky: good at sports, charming (when it suited him), and (for some reason beyond Steve) well-respected. Unlike Bucky, he was also brutish and cruel — particularly to Steve. 

When he wasn’t engaged in sport, Hodge could usually be found prowling the streets with his faithful gang — boys whose cruelty found an outlet through the whims of their leader; boys who followed-on for lack of original ideas; and boys who hid their own fear and weakness behind perceived loyalty. Hodge’s gang had been responsible for smashing the windows of the hardware store, spray painting the side of the diner, denting the side of the antique store’s truck and savagely beating half of the kids on the block. And yet, somehow, they were rarely ever caught doing something wrong. 

When they were caught, their actions were described as ‘boys being boys’. To this day, Steve couldn’t understand the sentiment — especially when this had been expressed after little Jonny Juniper had ended up in the hospital with a broken clavicle, three missing teeth and a sprained wrist. He’d tried asking his mama to explain it but she’d only given him a misty-eyed smile and hugged him tight. 

Steve rolled his shoulders and tried to bat again. He swung wildly and the second ball sailed past. The opposing team started to snigger and Steve could feel the tops of his ears beginning to glow hotly.

“The only thing worse than your swing is that hack-job,” Hodge said, eyeing his hair. He lobbed the ball back to the pitcher. 

Steve ran a hand over the front of his hair, feeling the still jagged cut. Once the initial shock and indignation had worn off, his mama had sat him down and neatened up the back and sides with a proper pair of scissors. The front was declared as a lost cause. Steve had been teased mercilessly at school for his haircut all week but, for once, had managed to shrug the insults off — to the confusion of his peers. Each time a comment had followed him down the corridor, across the class or in the playground, he had simply recalled Bucky, Michael and Peggy’s roaring faces from the back of the horse-drawn carriage. No insult could eclipse the joy he had felt at laughing at his misfortune with his friends. Besides, as his mama had pointed out, hair would grow back.

Steve felt his resolve strengthen. Bending his knees, he swung the stick over his shoulder again. He _could_ do this — he’d been practising with Bucky at the batting cages and had managed to hit the ball _at least_ twice in one hour. Steve thought the pitcher was eyeing him a little more wearily. Clearly, he could see determination radiating off of him. Steve was glad; let them all underestimate him and then let him prove them wrong. A flare of excitement ignited in the pit of his stomach at the thought of the outfielders scrambling for the ball as he brought in a homerun — something even Bucky had been unable to achieve. 

The ball left the pitcher’s hand as though in slow motion, spinning through the air with complete accuracy. Steve swung the stick and it whistled through the air at speed. The broom handle skimmed the bottom of the ball as it whipped past and, once again, landed in Hodge’s gloved hand. 

“OUT!”

Steve’s dream of being the new hero of the neighbourhood burst so suddenly and violently that he physically sagged. 

A black automobile pulled down the street, hooting its horn and the children began to scatter.

“Nice one, Rogers,” a member of the opposing team crowed.

“Yeah, thanks for winning the game for us,” another snickered. 

“You’ll always be a loser,” Hodge said with nasty relish, elbowing Steve as he passed.

Steve remained in the street, defeated and dejected. Bucky walked over and clapped him bracingly on the shoulder. “You, er… ya did…”

“Lousy,” Steve muttered.

Bucky was saved from answering as both his and Steve’s names were called. The Carter children were scrambling excitedly out of the same car that had interrupted their game, wearing their matching grins. Curious eyes swept over the street, taking in the immediate sights of Bucky and Steve’s neighbourhood. Bucky raced up to them with Steve trailing behind. 

“Found us alright then,” Bucky stated, echoing Michael’s words from the weekend.

Peggy beamed. “Piece of cake,” she quoted.

A woman with coiled red hair and an open, honest face stepped out of the car, leaving the driver alone. She wore a matching skirt and jacket in an eye-watering shade of green. The woman smiled at the two boys from Brooklyn.

“You must be the famous Steve and James that I’ve been hearing such marvelous things about,” she said in warm, European tones. As she said each boys name, she looked correctly into their face — a small touch that pleased both boys and infused her polite works with genuine sincerity. She lowered her voice conspiratorially, “Goodness knows why two nice boys such as yourselves would want to befriend these ragamuffins.”

“ _Ana!_ ” Michael laughed. He turned to the two boys. “Please ignore our governess; she seems to think she’s _funny_.”

“Hysterical,” Peggy added dryly. 

Ana smiled indulgently at her two wards. “I’ll wait here with the car; _do not_ be late,” she said with kind sternness. “Have fun and, for heaven’s sake, mind your manners.”

“We will,” Peggy grinned.

“When don’t we?”

“ _Irgum-burgum_ ,” Ana sighed dramatically. She threw an arm around each of their shoulders and hugged them tight before shooing them both away.

Michael immediately wandered over to where the broomstick handle still lay by the chalk lines. The hat was gone; snatched up by its owner when the game broke up. “What’s this all about then?” he asked interestedly. 

“Stickball,” Bucky answered, following him over to the base of the V. “Don’tcha remember me telling you about it?”

“Oh yes, your Yanks’ street version of rounders.”

Bucky and Michael wandered between the bases with Bucky pointing out the function and the intricacies of the game. Steve and Peggy were left alone.

“You’re awfully quiet again,” Peggy said once Bucky and her brother were out of earshot. 

“I’m not really into sports,” Steve lied.

“You seemed pretty into it when we turned up.”

“You saw that, huh?” he asked.

“A little,” she admitted.

Before they could discuss it further, Steve swiftly changed the topic. “Want a tour of the neighbourhood?”

Peggy smiled. “Sure.”

Steve led her up and down the street, pointing out the local sights. As well as the hardware store and _Brooklyn Antiques_ , their neighbourhood consisted of apartment blocks separated by narrow alleyways, a parking lot and a diner that promised hot coffee and fresh rolls. 

Pointing down the road and into the distance, Steve said, “Over that way is the Brooklyn Bridge — I guess you musta crossed it when you came over from the city. Our school is down that way too and round the corner. I won’t take you there, though; it’s pretty boring.” He led her down the road and pointed at _Brooklyn Antiques._ “The lady who runs that store is a real battleaxe. She isn’t too fond of us kids ever since someone broke her window a few years back whilst we was playing stickball.”

They turned and walked back the way they had come. Pointing as they walked, Steve said, “I got beat up in that alley. And that parking lot. And behind that diner.”

Peggy looked at him with raised eyebrows. “D’you have something against running away?”

Steve shrugged. “You start running, they’ll never let you stop,” he said sagely. “You stand up, push back; can’t say no forever, right?”

Peggy pursed her lips together thoughtfully. “I know a little something of what that’s like,” she finally said. “To have every door shut in your face.”

Steve looked at her skeptically. 

“You don’t believe me,” she accused lightly before sighing noisily, “Aside from Michael, I’ve never really had any friends.”

“Come off it,” Steve scoffed.

Peggy gave him a sardonic smile. “I’m not exactly what one might call ‘normal’, Steve. Mother’s constantly setting up luncheons with me and the children of her friends but… they never work out. The boys don’t want to play with me because I’m a girl and the girl’s don’t want to play with me because I’m not enough of a girl.”

“That’s not fair,” Steve said indignantly.

Peggy gave a humourless laugh. “Haven’t you heard yet? Life often isn’t fair.”

“I think you’re just the right amount of girl,” Steve declared honestly before flushing scarlet. He spluttered for a moment, spitting out half-sentences before Peggy took pity on him.

“Thank you.”

“Anyway,” he forged on, ignoring the burn that was spreading up his neck and across his cheekbones, “being ‘normal’ is overrated. If the jerks back home don’t think you good enough… well, then that’s on them.”

Peggy managed a grateful smile. “Hm,” she mused, “You give pretty good advice — perhaps you should listen to yourself every once in a while.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, pleased and embarrassed all at once. For a brief moment, he wondered whether Peggy had made up the story about not fitting in, to make him feel better. He quickly rejected this, however. Steve knew all about how narrow-minded children could be when faced with someone who was just a little bit different. For a nine year old, she was surprisingly headstrong and unafraid to speak her mind, she was also fierce when provoked and brave enough to stand by any of her actions or words. Steve could understand why some children would find these qualities intimidating or confusing and therefore act dismissive. To Steve and Bucky, though, it was these things that made Peggy so interesting.

“What’re you two making googly eyes at each other for?” Bucky suddenly interrupted, calling to them from down the street.

“Ugh, we’re not making… how're we… shut up, Buck!”

Grinning widely, Bucky gestured for them to come back to where he and Michael were waiting, having finished talking about stickball. “C’mon, let’s get going.”

Steve and Peggy returned to the two boys (Steve glaring daggers at Bucky the entire time) and the foursome headed towards the apartment complex on the corner of the street. Similar to most of the nearby buildings, the block was constructed of brown brick. The apartment block was U-shaped around a concrete courtyard with a single, wilted tree in the centre. Exterior stairways and walkways led to the apartments on the upper floors and lines of washed clothes criss-crossed overhead between buildings. 

“That’s my place,” Steve said, pointing to an apartment at the end of a walkway on the second floor. He pointed to another apartment on the opposite side of the courtyard and up another level. “And that’s Bucky’s.”

“It must be pretty swell living so close to your best friend,” Michael said.

Steve and Bucky grinned at each other. “It ain’t bad.”

Bucky led them up the nearest stairwell. They wound around it and emerged three floors up. Passing half of the apartments along the walkway, Bucky grinned at them before pushing open an unlocked door. An explosion of sound swept out from inside.

“I’m home!” Bucky bellowed into the depths of the apartment, adding to the cacophony of noise. 

There was a great scramble as three girls, all blue-eyed and dark-haired like their brother, bundled towards the front door. They jabbered excitedly over each other.

“We thought you were gonna be late! Ma’s nearly—”

“Jimmy, look what I made—”

“—and soon we’ll be setting—”

“—it can move if you—”

“Stevie!” Chubby arms and legs pumped as the youngest sister squealed delightedly and streaked straight at Steve, throwing herself into his arms in gales of laughter. Steve stumbled backwards as the toddler thumped into him but he caught her under the arms nonetheless.

“Woah!” he laughed. “You’re getting big.”

She smiled proudly, showing pearly rows of milk teeth. “Me big girl.”

“Michael and Peggy, these are my sisters,” Bucky introduced, pointing first to the eldest daughter who appeared to be slightly older than Peggy. “This is Rebecca, Marie and the baby, Charlotte.”

Charlotte pouted. “Me _big girl_!”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah; you’re a big girl. Girls, this is Michael and Peggy Carter.” 

“Is she your _girlfriend,_ Jimmy?” Marie asked, eyeing Peggy slyly.

“Knock it off,” Bucky snapped, glaring darkly at his sister — clearly he had forgotten his own earlier remark to Steve and Peggy. “Unless you want your diary to go to Hodge.” He put on a high falsetto, “ _Mrs Marie Hodge. Mr and Mrs G. Hodge. Gilmore Hodge is soooooo handsome!_ ”

Marie flushed scarlet. “You wouldn’t dare!” she hissed.

“Don’t be rude, then.”

Marie glared at him before stamping off into the apartment, scowling at all of the other children as she passed. Bucky looked to Rebecca who rolled her eyes.

“Sorry about her,” Rebecca apologised to Peggy and Michael tiredly. “Ma says she should be on the stage — what with her flare for the dramatics.”

“Apparently it’s a ‘phase’,” Bucky said, curling his fingers around the word. “I sure hope it ends soon. Anyway, forget her — come an’ meet Ma.”

Bucky and Steve’s apartments were nearly identical except there was an extra bedroom and more living space. A short hallway leading from the front door opened out into the living room ahead, and Bucky and Rebecca’s room on the right-hand side. The door to the bedroom was half-open and, peering inside as they passed, Michael and Peggy could see that it was a room of two halves: on the left, childish paintings of nature and porcelain animals whilst the right was a jumble of sports memorabilia. Bucky led them into the living room where a woman wearing a flowery apron over a smock dress was emerging from the kitchenette.

Ma Barnes, as everyone called her, was a warm and affectionate mother who was fiercely protective of her children but unafraid to cuff them around the ear when they stepped out of line. Within a short amount of time, it was clear to see that this relationship extended to Steve, too. It appeared that Steve was a frequent visitor at the Barnes’ household and was thus treated as an extended member of the immediate family. For Michael and Peggy, who were sometimes treated as strangers within their own home, this was a new and (at first) unnerving marvel.

After the greetings had been made between Michael, Peggy and Ma Barnes, the latter unselfconsciously set all of the children to work in laying the table for dinner. Marie even slunk in to help, looking moody and sullen. The table — a collapsible contraption — was pulled away from the far wall and set up in the middle of the living room. The Barnes children and Steve worked in easy tandem, completing their chore efficiently through years of practise whilst the Carter siblings eagerly pitched in where possible. In a relatively short amount of time, the table was laid and the seven children were situated around it with Ma Barnes at the head. Dishes of boiled vegetables, rice and chipped cream beef were passed around the table and scooped onto plates. 

“James says you are from London,” Ma Barnes said, addressing the Carter’s as they all ate.

“Yes, a place called Hampstead,” Michael said with a hint of nervousness. Despite Ma Barnes’ cheery manner, there was something intimidating about her. She was smiling encouragingly at Michael, though, so he forged on, “There’s a nearby park called Hampstead Heath; perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

Ma Barnes shook her head ‘no’.

“It has its own fairground,” Michael said, “Although it’s nothing like your Coney Island.”

“The swing carousel is the most exciting ride,” Peggy pitched in. 

“Yes, James said that you all met at Coney Island,” Ma Barnes said.

“Jimmy said you were dressed as a _boy_ ,” Marie added, the faintest trace of spite in her tone following on from her earlier embarrassment.

Ma Barnes gave her daughter a quelling look and Marie’s eyes quickly returned to her plate.

“That’s right,” Peggy said unabashedly. “I was dressed as a boy. I was dressed as Michael, to be specific. I’d borrowed his clothes so that I could sneak away from our governess and go to the fairground…” Peggy hesitated, seemed to realise how flippant she sounded and added, “I don’t usually run away from our governess or steal — I just really wanted to see the amusement park.”

There was a sparkle in Ma Barnes’ eye. “You’re a brave one,” she said with a measure of understanding, “Going to Coney Island on your own. You’re lucky they didn’t steal you away and turn you into a carnival performer.”

Peggy beamed, eyes alight. “That would be wonderful!” she declared. “I’d meet lots of interesting people and have all sorts of adventures.”

“A girl dressed as a boy?” Michael asked teasingly. “You’d be in the freakshow!”

“And where would you be, then?”

“I’d be a lion tamer,” he declared easily.

“You’d be eaten,” Peggy stated before adding, thoughtfully, “Actually, I think I would pay more to see that.”

The table laughed at the children’s lighthearted bickering and even Marie began to thaw. Whilst they ate, the table spent the next few minutes deciding which roles they would play in Coney Island. Peggy finally chose a tightrope walker and Steve thought he’d be a good human cannonball due to his size. Charlotte said she would be ‘a big girl’. Flexing his muscles, Bucky decided he would be a strongman until Rebecca told him that he looked as though he needed the toilet. 

“What about you, Ma? What would you be?”

“Me?” Ma Barnes asked, laughing. “I’d be the ringleader, of course — someone has to keep all of you lot in check. Now, c’mon, eat up before it gets cold.”

* * *

The sun was setting in Brooklyn, casting the borough in a rosy glow. Steve and Bucky and taken the Carter’s up to the roof of their building once dinner had been eaten, the table cleared and dishes washed — another chore for the children that had passed quickly due to the many hands working together. The roof was strictly ‘out-of-bounds’ to residents however the chain around the gate and post was loose enough for even Bucky and Michael to squeeze easily through. 

The four children sat on the parapet of the building, their feet dangling over the edge as they looked out over Brooklyn. The nearby buildings were fairly level and so they had a mostly unencumbered view of the harbour, Brooklyn Navy Yard and the Brooklyn Bridge as it stretched towards Manhattan in the distance.

“I like your mother,” Peggy said to Bucky. “She’s warm and friendly but seems ever so tough at the same time. You wouldn’t want to mess with her.”

Bucky chuckled at the accurate analysis. “She’s had to be. Ever… ever since my Pop took off, she’s had to look after us all on her own.”

“Why? Where’s he gone?” Michael asked.

Bucky shrugged nonchalantly. “Probably out west somewhere; lookin’ to make his fortune so he can drink it all.” Bucky hesitated before adding, savagely, “He was a lousy, good-fer-nothin’ bum. We’re better off without him.”

A tense silence followed Bucky’s outburst. He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “’Snot so bad, really,” he said quietly. “I’ve got Ma and the girls — things are better without him around.”

“I’m sorry for being indelicate,” Michael said.

Bucky flashed him a half-grin. “Don’t be. We’re friends, aren’t we? You were just taking an interest.”

“What about you, Steve? What’s your family like?” Peggy asked hesitantly.

“It’s just me and my mama,” Steve said. “My father died before I was born — mustard gas during the war. Truth be told, most kids round here are missing one parent or the other.” 

“How come?” Michael asked curiously.

“Lots of reasons: illnesses, crime, death,” Bucky listed. “Some, like my Pop, just aren’t cut out to be parents.”

Bucky could see that his candid honesty had shocked and faintly horrified the two Carter children. For the first time since they’d met, they were looking sympathetically on him and Steve. Bucky plastered a patient smile on his face and wagged a finger at them.

“Now none of that,” he said. “We don’t need your pity.”

Peggy and Michael immediately blushed, and started spitting out apologies that the other two boys waved away, faintly amused. 

“Don’cha have any folks back home that have separated from each other?” Steve asked curiously.

“Well, sure but… there’s not many.”

“Our parents’ social circles would consider it quite the scandal.”

“And scandal doesn’t bode well where we’re from,” Peggy said. “Couples tend to stay together, even when they shouldn’t — _especially_ when they shouldn’t. It makes for some pretty miserable dinner parties.”

They lapsed into a silence that was more comfortable than their last, looking out over the borough and distant city. 

“We sat up here last year and watched the _Pensacola_ launch from over there,” Bucky said, pointing northwest towards the shipyard. “Even from up here you could see that it was huge.”

“We come up here every New Year’s Eve, too,” Steve said. “You can see all of the fireworks being set off across the city and in Brooklyn. One year, the air was so heavy with smoke that it blocked out the moon.”

“It’s a marvelous view,” Michael said. He paused before adding, “It almost makes me wish we weren’t returning home.”

Bucky and Steve’s ear pricked up — something about his tone suggested that this wasn’t some speculative date in the distance. They looked to Peggy who gave a little, miserable nod.

“Father finished up his business this week,” she said quietly. “Mother’s started to arrange the packing up of our belongings already.”

“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” Bucky asked.

“We were waiting for the right moment.”

The four children fell silent, each contemplating their looming separation. They had known, of course, that this summer friendship couldn’t last forever but hadn’t anticipated it being cut short so quickly. In just a few weeks, this unlikely group had formed a natural and firm relationship but convenience had so far kept them together. How would a friendship survive when it stretched across continents? 

“If we write to you, will you write back?” Peggy asked, a little shyly. 

“Of course,” Steve promised. “Why wouldn’t we write back?”

“You might forget us; once we’ve left.”

Bucky thought back to when they’d first met; Peggy dressed in her brother’s clothing and then the two of them bickering goodnaturedly. He grinned. “Trust us; we won’t forget either of you in a hurry.”

“Yeah; if anything, _you_ might forget _us_ when you’re back home.” 

Michael gave a quiet smile. “Not bloody likely.” 

“Perhaps we could refuse to go back,” Peggy suddenly said, brightly. “We could simply sit on top of our packed suitcases and refuse to move. Or we really could all run away to the circus and turn into performers!”

The boys laughed and the tension broke. Peggy jumped up and tiptoed along the parapet, arms thrown out on either side of herself for balance. 

“I really could be a tightrope walker,” she said. “Or a trapeze artist. Or—”

“ _Margaret Carter!_ ”

“Uh-oh.”

On the sidewalk across from the building, Ana stood with her hands on her hips, looking up at them with an uncharacteristically furious expression. “Get down from there this instant before you break your neck!” she called up before eyeing the three boys. “ _All_ of you. Now!”

The four children scrambled off of the parapet. 

“We’d best go down to her,” Michael said to Peggy, worriedly. “She didn’t look happy.”

“You’re not leaving yet, are you?” Steve asked, a little desperately.

Michael checked his watch and grimaced. “It would have been our curfew soon anyway.”

“We’ll try to come back another day,” Peggy promised. “And if not—”

“You’ll write?” Steve cut over her, eliciting a promise.

“We’ll write.”

The Carter children scurried off, calling goodbye’s over their shoulders. Bucky and Steve hurried over to the edge of the building again and peered down. Ana was now waiting down the street by the idling car. Within a few minutes, Michael and Peggy burst around the corner and hurried towards her. Bucky and Steve couldn’t hear what anyone was saying but Ana’s gestures suggested she was telling the two children off.

Ana climbed into the car with Michael and Peggy following. Before they disappeared inside, however, the two children looked back to the building and caught Bucky and Steve watching. They waved vigorously. Bucky and Steve responded in kind before the two Carter’s climbed into the back of the car. They remained on the rooftop, watching the car until it disappeared out of sight.

Once gone, Steve’s shoulders slumped and a knot formed in his stomach. He had a profoundly foreboding feeling that this was the last time he and Bucky would ever see their two friends again. Bucky clapped him on the shoulder, as he had done earlier after the stickball game. He didn’t speak — each boy seemed to know exactly how the other was feeling.

Luckily, both boys were wrong.

On the following Monday, Bucky and Steve returned home from school to find Michael and Peggy loitering outside their apartment block, waiting for them. Both wore their matching grins at the looks of delighted surprise on the boys’ faces. Michael and Peggy managed to visit Brooklyn three more times in total before their departure for England. During this time, Steve and Bucky considered it their duty to ensure that the two Brits enjoyed everything that Brooklyn had to offer.

They drank foamy milkshakes at the local diner; they walked the sweeping lawns of Prospect Park; and they crossed beneath the _Soldier’s and Sailor’s Arch_ at Grand Army Plaza. On a rare afternoon when Sarah Rogers wasn’t working, Steve managed to excitedly drag the Carter children up to his apartment to introduce them to his mama. The Carter children joined a game of stickball in the street and when the infamous Gilmore Hodge made a lewd and derogatory comment, the youngest Carter right-hooked him in the mouth so hard that he hit the dirt and was too stunned to retaliate.

On their final day, whilst Ana loitered by the car in the background, the Carter’s gave both Bucky and Steve a slip of card with two addresses written on: their home address and the address of Michael’s school.

“For use during term time,” Michael explained. “If… if you want to write, of course.”

“We do,” Bucky assured him. 

“We can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done; all the places you’ve shown us,” Peggy said sincerely. “We were having such a terribly dull time until we met you.”

“It was nothing,” Bucky said, embarrassed.

“It was _everything_.” 

Peggy reached up and pressed a soft kiss to first Bucky and then Steve’s cheeks. Steve felt his ears growing hot and a bashful smile spread across his face. Michael gave Bucky and Steve each a hearty handshake.

“See you then, chaps.” 

“We’ll be in touch,” Peggy swore.

Steve felt a lump rise in his throat as the Carter children disappeared once more into the back of the car. Ana gave both Brooklyn boys a fond smile before also climbing into the car. Bucky and Steve stood by for the final time and watched their friends drive away. Michael and Peggy’s faces filled the back window as they contorted in their seats and waved farewell. Steve and Bucky returned the gesture, the address card clutched firmly in each of their hands.

Steve lasted one day before he took up paper and ink and wrote to the Carter’s. 

He couldn’t explain it, even to himself, but something profound had happened to him during Michael and Peggy’s visits to Brooklyn. He no longer felt like the sickly boy he had always been. The Carters’ friendship had healed many of his past hurts. Now, when he looked at the diner, he wouldn’t think of the time he had gotten his ass kicked but rather of Michael blowing milkshake bubbles through his straw and accidentally spraying the counter. When he passed _Brooklyn Antiques_ on the way home from school, he would recall his and Peggy’s honest conversation about neither of them truly fitting in with their peers. And, best of all, when Hodge started up, he would recall the look of terror on his face as he cowered at the feet of a tiny, fierce nine year old.

Two days after Michael and Peggy left Steve and Bucky standing in the street, the Brooklyn boys stood on the rooftop of their apartment block and watched the _RMS Olympic_ set sail for England.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. 
> 
> Have we all been watching WandaVision? What do we think? No spoilers, of course! For me, Wanda and Vision were always characters that I enjoyed but that was kind've where it ended. I am absolutely loving WandaVision, though! I keep asking my boyfriend how something so wholesome can also simultaneously be so sinister.
> 
> TRANSLATIONS:  
> "Irgum-burgum!" (Hu.) A Hungarian expression of playful anger, usually used with children. Interestingly, there isn't really an English translation.
> 
> CHARACTER INFORMATION:  
> Gilmore Hodge from Captain America: The First Avenger playing the role of Gilmore Hodge, in miniature form  
> Jonathan "Junior" Juniper from Agent Carter S1 playing the role of Jonny Juniper, a victim of Gilmore Hodge's
> 
> As we don't know much about Bucky's MCU family, I'm taking some creative license. The inspiration for Rebecca Barnes comes from her brief appearances in the comics 'Captain America' and 'Captain America and Bucky'.


End file.
